You stare at me. The rest of your murder caws, shattering an afternoon’s silence with pure cacaphony. You do not join them. Your black eyes meet my blue ones. Why do you not join the others in their mayhem? What do you want?
Something passes between us. What, I cannot say.
Perched on the highest naked branch of the Maple upon which your murder roosts, you stare one moment more. Then you take flight, cacawing as your wings beat against the cooling air. The murder follows you, until you are as one with it as you have always been.
Save for the moment we shared.
for dVerse Poets’ Haibun Monday: Murmuration (guest pubtended by qbit/Randall)